The normally active Aspen leaves were motionless in the still air. Tall prairie grass pressed against the tree-line and waited patiently for a breeze to dance with. Cool air descended from the clear sky, it covered me like a thin blanket. I was bow hunting. I sat tucked up against a down-fall where the grass gave way to the forest. I anticipated the unmistakable sound of an approaching Whitetail. Near sun-down, my heart skipped as I heard a cautious deer working toward me from the darkened wood.
Anchored like a statue, I waited, listened and watched, straining my peripheral view in hopes of seeing a buck stepping out into the lighted meadow. Tense minutes passed between each cautious movement of the deer, but the animal did not make an appearance. Instead of offering me a clear view in reward for my effort, it came out behind me! It was so close. I heard the animal sniffing, trying to determine what I was. I could hear tiny twigs break each time it took a guarded step through the young stand of Poplar trees. For a moment, I thought the visitor was going to walk out on top of me. Still holding expectations the deer would make a grand entry onto the field, within range of my eager bow, I waited, trying to hold my breathing in check, but it turned, and melted into the shadows.
Well past dark, I finally stood up, flung my hunting stool over my shoulder, fought off a chill, and found the trail back to my truck. Maybe next time!